Echo
by Angeleyez
Summary: [complete] Rory says yes. The after effects three months down the line.
1. One

**Title**: Echo

**Author**: Angeleyez

**Disclaimer**: Don't own, don't own, don't own. I don't even own the title (it's a Trapt song). Methinks I lack creativity.

**Summary**: Rory says yes. The after effects three months down the line.

**A/N**: This is a multi-parter, although it won't be a long one. Dedicated to Marissa, because I feel bad that I couldn't deliver what she originally asked for. Also, **huge** thanks to Arianna, my helpful speed racer beta. You are simply marvelous.

The building was twenty-five stories, an average size, non-descript. It faded into the rest of the apartment complexes that lined the surrounding streets. It had its faults in the form of broken windows, cracked staircases, and an undependable elevator. But the cost was fair, or as fair as one could get in an overpriced city, and so far, no foul insects had been found skittering across the hardwood floors. The landlord was an inconsiderate asshole, but his son made sure the tenants received what they needed, and most of the time, there really wasn't a need to complain.

Apartment 705, seventh floor — third on the right if one were to enter from the east entrance — was the typical shoebox size, a long way from qualifying for a larger description. It had been put together with paper thin walls, and pale yellow paint, long since painted over again and again. Now the layers were slowly peeling off, revealing color after color. Currently, the bathroom wall was blue and an indescribable shade of emerald, a nice combination if looked at from the correct angle.

Outside of that lay the kitchen. Although it really had no right to call itself one, as it blurred right into the living room, disallowing either to exist as a separate entity. Rory liked to stand in the very center, her stance wide, cheerfully declaring she was in two places at once. She would then flounce over to the battered loveseat situated in front of the fourteen inch television that was turned on only in the morning, and then late at night.

The bedroom was off to the left, thankfully made up of four walls and a door, hiding the more intimate details of their life from view. A bed, a dresser, and a bookcase was all that fit inside, causing the two of them to share their chest of drawers, complete with certain rules to make it less chaotic. Sometimes Rory in a state of half-sleep would pull on one of Jess's shirts, and by the time she realized her error, she'd be too busy to bother to change. He thought it was sexy, but never told her so. He would only grumble and threaten to begin wearing her clothes. She didn't appreciate the thought.

Their single bookcase — bought from a flea market for half the market value, but twice its current worth judging from the way it leaned precariously to one side — took up most of the wall next to their bed. It was the reason nothing else could fit inside, but neither Rory nor Jess cared to get rid of it. They liked reading material within arms' reach, and besides, anything less in size would be unable to house the number of books their joint collection had accumulated.

Basically only the two of them were ever inside their apartment, give or take a few neighbors who took it upon themselves for an awkwardly polite social calling. If anyone were asked, they'd describe the couple as outrageously neat, not understanding that the pair simply did not own enough to clutter the place up. The one thing that could — their books — were kept in one spot, organized and alphabetized, a sort of pride attached that they had put this place together themselves, one piece at a time, and now they could keep it up. These two teenagers on the brink of becoming twenty something's, they could do this without help from any adult, any mother or grandparent who did not approve in the first place.

The neighbors were kind when they had to be, private when they ought to be, making the apartment a mostly enjoyable place to live. On one side lived two sisters and their parents, sometimes referred to as the Thénardiers thanks to the suspicious business dealings of the father. Jess liked to run his hands along the kitchen wall, looking for the hole that would let him spy on the family next door. He dreamed himself up as Marius, their foil. Sometimes he called Rory his Cosette, but she would only blush and turn away, back to doing the dishes.

On the other side, a man they had affectionately nicknamed Viola stayed, sleeping most of the day, waking up at night to moonlight as a woman, dressed in miniskirts and blouses that even Rory wouldn't mind borrowing. He always said hello on the staircase to whoever he passed, smiling and cheerful, happy with himself. Rory admired his self-confidence and assurance that his life was good and respectable, no matter who said what.

Further down the hall, Miss Havisham lived alone and mostly kept to herself, but always made sure to make an appearance when Jess arrived home from work. An unnatural and unexplained animosity existed between the two, although Rory had no idea who had started the chain of dislike. She never investigated too far into it. After all, the elderly woman adored her.

Two blocks away was the laundromat that Rory visited on select weekdays, a twisted sense of accomplishment that she traveled there herself, worked the machines herself, changed the dollars to quarters herself. In theory it was ridiculous that she enjoyed the mediocre task so much, especially since the year before, she had done the same thing, only in a basement at Yale, back in Connecticut. But without the sense of self-worth that Yale had helped create, an assurance that she was working toward something bigger and better than herself, she had to cling to these small acts of independence.

She would be lying though if she said that her life was suddenly without purpose. She wasn't foolish enough to define her life by her education, despite its unmistakable importance. She had simply found something new to concentrate on, this life with Jess that he promised her that night in her dorm, the life that he had delivered. There was a certain kind of excitement waking up next to him each morning, eating breakfast with him, yelling at him to let her get in the shower. He worked to support them, earning just enough to scrape by. It was new, and different, dripping with the spontaneity she had never used to her advantage before.

However, there was always that underlying fear that they tried to avoid thinking about: the shine would wear off, leaving behind the dull redundancy of everyday life that was not supposed to come until much later. Jess knew that she had had some kind of crazy moment the night she agreed to run away with him, never defining how long this would last, never assuring him that she wouldn't just get up and leave one day.

Sometimes when he kissed her, he tasted her regret, bitter and metallic on his tongue, burning as it slithered down his throat. Sometimes he heard her pacing at night, and sometimes he found lists she had made, pros and cons of her decision. It unnerved him that his name always fell on both sides, but he never brought it up, instead counting himself lucky that she had made it this far with him.

They had only been together for three months, their relationship spanning the summer, days of heat, days spent in bed, days of wandering around Central Park just because they could. But August was half gone, and the impending end was approaching much faster than he would have liked. A new year at Yale lurked around the corner, but she said nothing about it, continuing her time with him as if it would go on forever. Back in May, when he told her they would start new, implying an infinite span of time, the words had tripped over his tongue, stumbled out of his mouth. Even then, he had known them to be false.

Her silence only seemed to confirm it.

----

Jess heard the door creak open, and the soft padding of her feet as she walked across the kitchen. He didn't look up from table, as he was still in the middle of figuring out how much money he would shortly have to say goodbye to, and how he was going to start saving more. However, once she slid her arms over his shoulders and down his chest, he paused in his work. The pen dropped from his hand with a muffled thud, rolling close to the edge. He tilted his head in her direction.

"Hey," she mumbled, leaning closer. "What are you doing?"

"Bills."

"That word makes you sound old," she laughed, surprisingly cheerful for a person who had just woken up. At two in the morning.

"You still like water, right?" He asked. "The shower thing… you still do that?"

"Yeah," she sighed, trying to sound shameful. "That is one of my needs."

"Okay, how about electricity? Haven't you always wanted to live like the Amish? A new experience could be fun."

"How would we read?"

"Candlelight," he answered.

She rested her chin on the top of his head, frowning at the papers spread out before him, numbers on each, climbing steadily higher and higher.

"But that would make us strain our eyes, until eventually our eyesight would be so poor, we'd have to get glasses. Those cost even more money."

"Screw the glasses, we'll make a preemptory strike and eat more carrots."

"Carrots cost money," she reminded him.

"Right, so I guess that means the electricity stays."

"I thought we were going to make it this month."

"We are, I think. This is for next month," he explained. Next month. September. The thought got under his skin, implanting a thousand doubts and fears. If she was gone, there would be less expense; he would no longer have to worry. He had become accustomed to the worry, however. He wouldn't be whole without it. "We need to give something up, or else we're gonna have trouble buying food."

"No food?" She dropped her head to his shoulder, trying to meet his eyes. "I like food."

"I'm kind of a fan myself."

"Let's get rid of the TV. It's ridiculous that we even have one."

"Yeah, and deprive you of your news? You threw a tantrum when I told you we didn't get CNN."

"I did _not _throw a tantrum."

"TV stays," he muttered, dragging his gaze across the table. A calculator lay nearby, the total unnerving him. "We have the most basic package, it's not that big of a deal."

"Phone?" She offered helpfully.

"Huh. Phone. My boss might put up a fight."

"You can tell him you have ESP, and if he thinks really hard, you'll hear him, and materialize right in front of him."

He turned his head fully now, and she eyed him coyly, surprised at the smirk present on his face.

"Phone?"

"Phone," she repeated, agreeing. "We don't need one."

He reached behind her, his hand landing on the back of her neck, gently prodding her closer. She kissed him quickly, a playful mood settling over the both of them. She kissed him three more times, continuously pulling away between each, until finally, he half-lifted, half-pulled her into his lap. She landed haphazardly, almost taking a dive onto the floor. Neither dwelled on it though as she pressed against him, her fingertips on his jaw guiding him back to her. Without breaking contact, she managed to readjust herself so that she was straddling him. He let out a small moan of appreciation, and she smiled into his mouth.

He stood suddenly, bringing her with him, handling her carefully so she wouldn't drop from his arms. He sat her on the table in front of him, a burgeoning desire within him, needing this. Slowly, he began to push her backwards. Halfway down, she shifted against him, pulling away slightly to speak. He simply moved further forward to catch her words, not wanting to lose the taste.

"Jess," she breathed, "the papers."

His hand slipped from her back to just above her ass, and he pulled her against him, hard, their hips interlocking. He quickly brushed the bills away, sending them scattering all over the kitchen. He didn't care enough to be more efficient; he was concentrating too intently on the gasp that had escaped from the back of her throat. She tugged at his shirt, and both hit the table with too much force, her head saved from injury only by his hand.

He felt the pain however, thrumming in the center in his palm, shooting up his arm. On instinct, he broke the kiss, and looked down at her face, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. God, he loved that he did that to her, that he was the one to get her blood pumping, her heart smashing against her ribcage.

For the first time, he noticed that she was clad in only a shirt, _his_ shirt, one that barely skimmed her thighs. He crushed his mouth back to hers, running his fingers down her body, landing on her leg. He was about three seconds from climbing completely on top of her; his feet kept shifting, ready to lift in the air.

Her hand on his chest stopped him.

"This table…" She took in a short breath, "It's too much weight."

"Are you kidding? This table is like steel." His voice was low, unnaturally quiet, "It's fine."

He dipped back down and bit her bottom lip, but immediately drew away when a loud creak interrupted the moment. He stood up straight, lifting her up at the same time, and he fell back into his chair, landing in their previous position, her on his lap.

She buried her face into his neck, trying to muffle her laughter.

"We need a new table," Jess decided, annoyed.

"We should get one," she agreed. "Cancel the TV, it'll save you money."

His thoughts of intimacy took a backseat to the train that slammed to the front of his mind. His eyes clouded over, a mix of uncertainty and imminent resignation, but she didn't seem to notice. The only reason he had had the television set up was for her. She liked to watch the news in the morning sometimes, and she always tuned in late at night, catching sight of the job she coveted. He couldn't give her Yale; he could only give her a glimpse.

"I don't have to —"

"Don't worry about it," she assured him, standing up.

She kissed him on the bridge of his nose before heading off to the bedroom. She left the door open, a request for him to come to bed soon. The charged atmosphere dissipated quickly with her retreating back, leaving him sullen and very much alone in their kitchen. He began to pick up the bills from the floor, setting them on the table, throwing them into a disorderly pile. He sat back down in front of them, and shot them a wary look, suddenly not caring about whether or not he could make rent next month.

His mind returned to her words, still unable to decipher them. He had no idea what she wanted anymore.


	2. Two

**A/N**:  Wow, _wow_, thanks for the feedback.  I really appreciate it, and am so glad that you all enjoyed this.  For the person who was wondering about the story title:  it's a really good song by Trapt.  Once again, thanks to Arianna for being helpful and sweet.  And to Becka for saying the sweetest, nicest, most wonderful things that make me blush and smile like an idiot.  Thank you.

**Chapter** **Two**

"Did you know that Dean got married?"  Rory asked.

"Yeah, I saw him buying groceries for his wife at Doose's.  Apparently my witnessing the event jeopardized his manhood, and he assured me they were for her."

"Oh."  She paused, too many words swirling within her head.  Her thoughts collided and broke apart, and she scrambled to fit them together again, fix the logic.  She needed that net of reasoning to catch her right now.  "I don't understand why he got married so young."

There was no answer from Jess.  He was staring too hard at her to formulate a response.  His eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of light, and the shadows of her face had turned into tangible features:  the fluttering of her eyelashes, the slope of her nose, the curve of her mouth, twisted in uncomfortable conversation, lips pursing together when she was struggling with what to say next.

"I think he still has feelings for me," she said quietly.

He frowned, because Dean was supposed to be a safe subject now that he had married himself off.  This was not safe.

"And do you still have…"  He trailed off, the thought too absurd to comprehend.

"I don't know," she responded.

He felt a sudden movement, as if his body had jumped off the mattress, hurtling toward the ceiling, before falling back down to its rightful position.  But it had only been an interior sensation; he remained perfectly still. 

"I don't think so."

"Why the sudden need to play the sharing game?"  He inquired, a hint of contempt in his tone.

"I'm just trying to sort things out."  Her voice was subdued, weak, and right there he decided to shut his mouth and let her say whatever she wanted. 

"Did you know my grandparents are separated?" 

"Shit.  No."

"My grandmother is living in a hotel," she paused, the idea seeming too ridiculous floating in the darkness around them.  "I just don't understand how after so much time, it could just end."

"Things happen."

"Not after thirty-five years of marriage.  It's scary.  No one's safe, it can happen whenever.  Things just… fall apart."

"And things get put back together," he assured her.

"But they're separated.  It's like the beginning of the end."

"Or maybe it's just a precaution."

Rory looked up at him, tilting her head on the pillow.  She shifted beneath the covers so she could lie on her side and actually face him.  Her legs bumped his on the small mattress, and she quickly pulled away, bending at the knees, so she was no longer touching him.

"You think they can fix things?"  She asked, desperately wanting an idealistic response, a promise he couldn't make.

She sounded much too young then, making him feel some kind of fucked up version of guilt that he could not pinpoint the reason for.  Hesitantly, he reached out and touched her lightly, traveling up the underside of her arm.  The area was too sensitive, allowing his fingertips to emit electricity that traveled to her heart, before making a detour and landing between her legs.

She was trying to sort things out.  This was not helping.

"Yes," he replied easily.  As if there was no other logical answer.

After a moment of silence, he took a chance and leaned down to kiss her.  She found herself immediately responding despite her doubt.  His mouth tasted like cigarette smoke and California, last summer's sun bleached into his skin and lips; experiences still untold.  He tasted good.  A butterfly of excitement went wild in her stomach, and for the first time since her agreement to run with him, she felt that she had made the right choice.

"I love you," she said suddenly, because she could, because they could.  She needed to know that what she did, what she was doing, was okay, that there were reasons to back her up.  She wasn't doing this for nothing.

He didn't say it back, but she didn't even care because he kissed her again, and she swallowed his words.  They were warmer than she expected.  She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her tens of thousands of thoughts slowing, until eventually it was all mute noise in her head.  Later, she fell asleep, her hand on his upper arm. 

He could barely sleep at all that first night, alone with her in his apartment, lying on an old mattress on the floor.  He had been embarrassed to bring her here, only because he thought it'd spark an unwanted reaction — this, _this_ was what he was offering her? 

He had managed to convince his two roommates to spend the night at a friends' place.  He would have sprung for a motel of sorts for him and Rory, but he had finally begun the delicate task of thinking ahead.  Conserving money was the way to go right now, if he really wanted to get a new apartment, furnish it, and provide for her and himself.  It was a terrifying thought:  the two of them on their own, and it was all up to him.  Arriving at her dorm earlier tonight, asking her to run… run with him!  Leave everything behind!  What had he been thinking?  It had all popped into his head as he spoke, and he couldn't control the onrush; it just came out.  He had needed her to understand that this time would (could) be different, this time would be _good_.

And she had said yes.  He still didn't know why.  But for now, the fact that she was lying next to him was all that mattered.  Eventually, his mind hitched on to the sound of her breathing, rhythmic and slow, and it put him to sleep just as broken pieces of sunlight began to creep into the room.

He managed around two hours of shut-eye before he woke up to an empty bed, and a climbing fear that she had slipped away in the middle of the night.  These first few days were vital; she wasn't entirely comfortable in the city, with him, with the idea.  He wished she had thrown herself a hundred percent behind the decision, but it didn't happen.  He had to get past that though.  If he did this right, she would stay.  And she wouldn't regret it.

Once he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and sat up in bed, he saw her standing on the other side of the apartment, staring out the window.  It was a constant production outside, the scenery never changed, but there was a continual parade of new characters and different situations.  She watched quietly, her gaze pensive.  As soon as he stood though, she snapped out of her haze and looked over at him.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied.  With a pang, he noticed the time.  "I've got work today.  Soon."

"Oh."

"But I'll be back this afternoon.  You can stay here while I'm gone.  There's food in the fridge and I've got a bunch of books lying around."

"Sounds good," she nodded.  But she looked almost frightened.  He didn't want to leave her alone; it was too soon.  He knew she would be fine here.  There was only a marginal fear that she would head out into the city and get lost, or return to find herself locked out.  More though, he thought she'd go out to explore, and then never come back.

He hoped this was a temporary feeling.  He didn't want to doubt her presence every time he saw her, or had to leave her.

"I don't have to go.  I've never taken a day off, it wouldn't matter."

"Don't break your perfect record for me.  It's fine.  _I_ will be fine."

He considered her for a moment, before finally relenting, accepting that he wasn't going to win this.  "My roommate Greg'll be back a little later.  He looks scary, but is actually irritatingly nice."

"Okay."

"He _will_ try to make awkward small talk."

"I'll just give him my withering stare and scare him off," she answered.

He smirked at her response, enjoying the light air to her comment.  He then noticed that neither of them had moved, that this entire conversation had taken place over the span of several feet.  He decided to remedy that immediately, and headed over to where she leaned on the wall by the window.  She didn't move away, instead waiting for him to come to her.  Nothing new there.

"We'll eat out for dinner," he explained.  "And I'll start looking for an apartment this afternoon."  He waited for some kind of reaction, wondering if the full force of what they were doing had hit her yet.

"Sounds good."

He nearly frowned at her uninterested attitude, as if she was taking this all in stride.  He was supposed to be the enigma of the relationship, yet today he was having a tremendous amount of trouble decoding her words and actions.  She had woken up opaque and wooden, although there had been evidence of that last night.  She had kissed him back, had said that she loved him too, but then there was her voice, small and unsure:  _I'm just trying to sort things out.  _

"You want my cell number?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him.  "Don't let strangers in no matter what candy they claim to have, and don't set any fires.  I got it."

He took another step forward, letting his left hand land on her arm, his right on her cheek.  She leaned into him, hiding her face in his T-shirt.  Relieved, he skimmed the side of her face with his lips, and as a response, she wrapped her arms around his neck.  She allowed herself to melt into him, hoping that what he proposed wasn't so out of the question.  Simultaneously, another part of her was blocking out Stars Hollow, her mother, and her grandparents.  She would have to call soon.

He dressed with her facing the window, smirking at the blush he knew to be on her cheeks.  When he was ready to go, he took one last, long look at her, trying to will her with his mind to just wait this out.  It'd be worth it in the end.

"I'll be back," he promised.

"I'll be here," she promised.

It took him three days to find an apartment, a relatively short time for someone who had just begun looking.  It was all a matter of luck, the stars aligning, fate deciding to stop screwing him over.  A friend of his had decided to move in with his girlfriend, leaving behind a vacant apartment with Jess's name on it.  The rent for May had already been paid in full, and a few pieces of furniture had been left behind — less for Jess to buy.  A loveseat and an ancient TV set sat in the living room, a dresser lived alone in the bedroom, and a table stood in the kitchen, positioned awkwardly off to the side, near the permanent objects of the sink, double counter, refrigerator and stove.

"Huh.  He took the chairs, but left the table?"  Jess wondered out loud, standing in the kitchen, surveying the scene.  "We'll have to get a couple of chairs and a bed, but I think that's all we need right now."

He turned in time to see Rory leaving the bedroom.  He shot her an expectant look.  "What do you think?"

"It's nice."  Her voice was hollow, noncommittal. 

"We need chairs and a bed," he repeated.  "Then, kitchen stuff, sheets, blankets…"

"Can we do that first?"

"What first?"

"The bed," she clarified.  "Can we get that first?"

He caught on to her train of thought quickly.  She didn't want to sleep on the floor.  "Yeah.  We can buy it today, and I'll get overnight delivery.  So tonight…"  He trailed off.  "We'll get pillows and a blanket."

"Sounds good."

"Bed, sheets… anything else you want today?  After, there's this corner market down the street," he explained, gesturing behind him, overcompensating.  "We can buy some food."

"Are you going to cook dinner?"  She seemed mildly amused by the thought.

He smirked, trying to encourage her mood.  "Yup."

"Will you show me how?"

"Sure."  He paused.  "I've got some money saved up.  I worked at Jimmy's —"

"Who's Jimmy?"  She cut in.

The bottom of his stomach dropped out.  "My dad," he replied.  God, she didn't even know his name.  Please, don't let this be a reminder.  Don't let her get mad.

"Oh."

With a lack of a response, he continued, "I worked at his hot dog stand over the summer.  He had a tendency to overpay me.  Then, he gave me this huge end of the summer bonus.  Guilt and abandonment issues pay well."

"Child support," she supplied.  "He owes years of it."  She paused.  "I've got money too.  In the bank, I mean."

"Last resort," he nodded.  He pulled a key out of his pocket, and handed it to her.  "We'll have to make a copy, too."

"Let's go."  A ripple of excitement ran through her voice.  They had things to do now, tasks to complete.  This was what she was good at:  structure and a schedule.

They emerged in the hall, and he turned to shut the door behind them.  When he faced her, he was surprised to find her wearing a startled look.  "Is this really going to work?" 

"Yes."  That was the answer lately.  That was what she needed to hear.

It took a few days before they were fully settled in.  For one of those days, Rory had been noticeably absent, going back to Stars Hollow for the test run of her mother's inn.  She had returned to the apartment late the next night, deflated and worn; her mother had been too busy (read: angry) to say more than three words to her.  The guilt had followed her back to the city, and she had gone straight to bed, her conversation with Jess limited.  He had felt bad, because he knew it was more than her mom, but her grandparents too, and maybe even some of the townies.  He never allowed himself to fully grasp how much she had left behind to come with him.  The off-balance emotion would eat him alive.

She had come back, however.  That was what he dwelled upon.  That was what mattered in the end.

One night during their second week, he sat on their new bed, smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall.  He strained his ears for the muffled sound of the shower running, but he could no longer pick up on it.  Seconds later, the door opened to reveal Rory, dripping wet, wearing only a towel.  She looked embarrassed to see him, although she had known he'd be in there.  There weren't many places to hide in the apartment.

He stood up to leave, so she could dress alone, but she stopped him.  "You don't have to go.  But can you…"

He nodded and returned to his previous position, his back to her.  The silence that fell was pure torture, because in the void, he knew she was behind him, undressed, and it was taking all of his willpower not to turn around and look at her.  Her feet made wet, sloppy sounds on the hardwood floor, as she walked to the dresser to remove clothes for the night.  He took one last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray he kept on the floor, on his side of the bed.

Searching his head for something to say to break the quiet, he was surprised when she spoke first.

"Tell me about California."  It was the request that had been lodged at the front of her mind since he had entered her life again.  This was what would lead to the rest of her unanswered questions.  She wanted to get to _Why?_

"It was hot," he said.  "The beaches were a nightmare during the day, too many rubber skinned I-still-don't-have-a-dark-enough-tan beach freaks.  But it was great at night."

"You went to the beach at night?"

"Sometimes.  It was weird walking it with absolutely no one around," he explained to the wall.  "It was quiet.  Just the sound of the ocean."

"It sounds nice."

He was quiet for a moment.  She clenched her fist, waiting, willing him to keep going.  He couldn't stop now.  She needed more. 

"I saw you over the summer."

She looked up at his back, startled.

"You were in the sci-fi section at this one bookstore, classic lit at another.  You served me coffee in this café on the boardwalk."

She stared at the bed, trying to mentally separate the threads of the blanket to form a hole big enough for her to disappear through.  An unfamiliar emotion surged within her, before she recognized it as the feeling she used to get when he was around her.  With the two of them just sitting on her couch, watching TV, reading, talking.  She glanced back up at him.

"I missed you too."

At her words, he began to turn around, slowly so she could give a shout of warning if she was not yet decent.  She remained quiet, allowing him to do a full one eighty.  She sat down on the bed, so both of them were at opposite sides. 

"Why'd you leave?"  Nothing like cutting to the chase.

"Do you know what it's like to have everything fall apart all at once?  And you want fix it, because you're so god damn tired of the mess, but you have no idea where to even start?"

"So you left?"

"I had to."

"No, that's where you're wrong.  You never _had_ to leave.  I could have —"

"I needed to go and just… clear my head, figure some stuff out…"

"And you couldn't say goodbye to me first?"  She made a move to get up.  His hand immediately shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"Rory…"

"How could you just let me walk off the bus?  You told me you'd call me.  Yeah, thanks a lot."

"I didn't know how to tell you," he admitted.

"How about:  Goodbye?  I'm leaving without trying to resolve anything, see ya later!"

"If I had told you, you would have asked me to stay."

"Of course I would have, you were my boyfriend.  So what?"

"I would have stayed."

She looked down at her lap, biting her lip.  She couldn't pinpoint whether it was anger, hate, or love that was radiating off her body.  It might have been a mix of all three.

"I didn't want to," he added.  "Everything would have only gotten worse."

"You never called or wrote or anything.  You made me want to hate you."

"You were supposed to.  It would have made things easier."

It hurt.  It hurt way too much.  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away before he could see them.

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"Any of it.  All of it."  Did he miss her?  Did he love her?  Could she really count on him now?

He sighed, eyes back on the wall, trying to see through it.  He was looking for something, a picture, a sign, evidence of what was to come. 

"Yes."

For the first time since they had left, she was the one to initiate the kiss.  She crawled across the bed, and kissed him timidly, letting his words sink in.  He pulled her closer, trying to keep himself in an upright position at the same time.  Both lost their balance, however, and she landed partly on top of him.  He rolled them over, so their positions were switched, and she reveled in the feeling of his full weight against her.  He kissed her neck, and she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating only on where to put her hands, and the sound of his breathing.

They were doing this all wrong:  apologies came first, then understanding, and finally rebuilding.  Both were jumping through the motions, straight to the end.  It was way too fast, but really that was the whole point.

All thoughts of stopping died at formation, as they slipped beneath the sheets, still stiff from the cardboard packaging material.  She kept her eyes closed, losing herself in the sensations, the rhythm.  The part of her that should have felt upset and alone, making love to a boy who had broken her heart while she was miles and miles from home, never reared its ugly head.  Instead, she found herself pulling him as close as possible, breathing hard against his neck, kissing him with an intensity she had never felt before.

When he lay down next to her, she immediately rolled into him, trying to cling to something solid, afraid she'd be sent hurtling off into orbit.  It was too much, the build-up, the release, the feeling; it wrapped around her, tight gauze that balled up in her chest.  He drew his lips across her temple, and she shut her eyes again, waiting for the cold calm of his kiss to fill her.  

She barely remembered falling asleep.

Rory woke up first, a tingling in her body startling her.  She moved to face him, but found him turned away, still asleep.

She slid across the mattress, careful not to shake it, and pressed her face into his back, letting the faint scent of sweat and soap fill her nose.  She inhaled, letting it out slowly, trying to get her mind around the night before.  In her head, the images replayed themselves, leaving her light-headed and excited, but somewhat nervous.  More nights like that could lie ahead of her if this lasted, if this really worked out.  If she trusted him.  He would be there; he had said he would, promised she could count on him. 

She was finally beginning to understand this.  Him.  Maybe this would work.  Maybe this would last.

Slipping her hand over his side, she leaned further into him, but the movement roused him awake.  She inched away to give him room to turn. 

"Hi," she said, the single word full of uncertainty, embarrassment. 

"Hey."  A small smile twitched at his lips.

"Can I make breakfast?"  She asked stupidly, not wanting an awkward silence to fall, unsure of whether or not either of them was supposed to mention last night.

"Only if I can stand behind you and make sporadic comments, so the food is edible."

His smile was contagious.  It spread to her, lighting up her face, and she moved closer to him.  She rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming in her ear.

"Sounds like a plan," she said, making no move to get up.

"Yeah," he muttered, his fingertips spinning small circles on her shoulder, "it does."


	3. Three

**A/N**:  As always, thank you for the feedback.  To Mai, because finals really do suck.  To Stephanie, for being a huge help and for being so nice.  Thank you.

**Chapter Three**

The sound of his key in the door startled her off her perch on the loveseat.  Rory stood and walked to the center of the kitchen just as he appeared inside.  She scrunched up her nose as a familiar scent wafted through the apartment.

"We won't need plates tonight," Jess said, gesturing to the table where Rory had set it a half hour earlier.

"Are we going to use chairs or are we going for an all out cavemen theme?"

He swung his arms in front of his body, revealing a plastic bag that had been hidden behind his back.  She squinted trying to make out the creased red writing across its front.  A few random letters were legible but the rest was unreadable.  However, the smell was strong, and it was enough for her to guess what he had brought.

"Is that Chinese?"  She asked, surprised.

"Yup," he said, setting it down on the table, and then lifting the unneeded dishes.

"We haven't had take-out since… June.  At least.  What's the occasion?"

"The occasion is that a woman three, possibly four times my age hit on me tonight.  I was hoping some Chinese would soften the emotional scarring," he explained as he returned the plates to the cabinet.

"Aw, poor baby," she teased, pulling on his wrist so he would face her.

"Hey, she was grabby too."

Rory lightly gripped his neck, pulling him into a kiss, before letting her hands wander along his back.  They slipped further down, and he grinned.

"I was able to dodge her most of the time, but…"

"I'm sorry it was a painful night.  But she left you a great tip, didn't she?"

"She technically paid for dinner."

"Tell her thank you for me," she laughed, fiddling with his shirt.

His black bow tie was still around his neck, undone for the most part.  She tugged on it, pulling it out of the collar of his white dress shirt.  She then undid the first couple of buttons, before smoothing the material down.  Once she was satisfied with her work, she glanced up and found him watching her intently.

"You like working there, right?  It's not some kind of hellish demonic place that's slowly stealing your soul or anything?"

"I like it," he assured her.  "I like both of my jobs.  If I didn't, I would have vandalized one of them by now."  He sidestepped her and sat down in a chair, and began to pull out the take-out cartons.

She hoped he wasn't lying.  He had been a messenger when she first came to New York with him.  It wasn't long before he quit that, however, explaining to her that the money had been only enough to support him when he was splitting the rent three-ways.  Just after he and Rory moved into their new apartment, he had found an ad for a part-time position at a bookstore not too far away.  He hadn't wanted to take it due to the poor wages, but Rory had insisted, knowing that of all the possibilities out there, that was the one that would make him the happiest.  When he wasn't stocking shelves, mentally cataloguing which titles he'd have to check out at a later point, he was behind the cash register, nose in a book until a customer requested his help.  He was basically paid to read; he _had_ to take it.

He had gotten the restaurant job on his own, however; no input from Rory.  He had known she would put up a fight about it.  She didn't want him working in food services, not when she was stuck with the image of him standing behind the counter at _Luke's_, a rag flung over his shoulder, wearing an expression that bordered on ennui and irritation.  She feared he would be miserable at this new job, although honestly, she couldn't picture him anywhere else.  In her mind's eye, she always had trouble placing him in the working world, too used to his lack of motivation and apathetic nature toward responsibility. 

The first time she had seen his uniform — black slacks, white dress shirt, bow tie (it was the tie that did it) — she had laughed out loud, before trying to block out the sinking feeling that threatened to seize her.  His being miserable was the last thing she wanted, but it seemed that was the way this was going to go.  She was convinced he'd quit after the first day.  Surprise, surprise, when he came home moderately happy, promising that the training was no sweat, the job was a cinch, and most of the patrons were assholes, but they tipped very well (and that was what counted, really).

It was one of the nicer restaurants; most of the customers had plenty of money, and had no qualms about throwing away over thirty dollars for entrees.  Jess had adapted to it quickly, finally discovering the thin line between being polite, and simply being quiet.  He needed to be attentive here, but at the same time invisible, letting the patrons feel as if they were alone, the food magically appearing on their plates.  He was good at the invisible part; as long as he didn't mouth off, it was a successful day.

There was still that tight fear, however, poking at her ribs when she watched him leave for work.  She was afraid that he was unhappy but keeping silent because of the money.  He never complained unless it was a verbal flogging of a rather unpleasant customer, and he always seemed alright.  Nothing he did quelled the lump of guilt she carried around with her though, because she knew that he was doing this for her.  All of this was for her.

Rory took the seat across from him, and pulled a container in front of her.  She removed the top and found sweet & sour chicken staring up at her.  She let out a small squeak of approval.

"I think I love you," she stated.

"That's good to know." 

He began to chow down on his beef and mixed vegetables, while she dug further into the plastic bag.  "Oh!  Egg rolls!"

"It doesn't take much to get you excited."

"Egg rolls," she enunciated, shaking the small package.  "If you don't worship them properly, you don't get to eat one."

"Are you threatening me?  Don't forget, it was my good looks and boyish charm that got us this dinner."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he stared back down at his food.  A muffled word escaped his mouth, sounding too much like, "Mature".  She ignored him.  Wordlessly both began to eat, enjoying the stifled hum of the city that lay outside. 

After a few moments, they both looked up at each other.  "Switch?"  Rory asked.

"Switch," he nodded.

They slid their dinners across the table, Jess taking Rory's and vice versa, adding a little variety to their meal.  It only took one bite before he glanced up and pointed his fork at her.  "You're not getting this back."

She shot him a pout but he stood his ground, having grown immune to her 'feel sorry for me' face.  Rolling her eyes, she dove back into the take-out bag and removed the chopsticks she had seen earlier. 

Jess arched an eyebrow, disbelieving.  "You don't know how to use those."

Surprisingly enough, she knew how to hold them. 

"Doesn't mean you know how to use them," he insisted.

She managed to lift a vegetable halfway in the air, her movements calculated, confident.  But as she got higher, the vegetable began to slip.  Quickly, she raised her hand up, bringing her face down to catch it before it fell back with the rest of her food.  Unfortunately, it missed its intended target, and instead bounced off her chin before landing in her container.

Glancing up, she found Jess back to staring down into his dinner.

"Jess."

He met her eyes, trying to smother the laugh that threatened to escape.  "I think you should try that again."

"Shut up."  She threw down one of her chopsticks, annoyed, and used the other to stab the disobedient vegetable.  Popping it into her mouth, she shot him a satisfied smile.

"Now that's class."

"We're eating from aluminum containers with plastic forks," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but colorful forks.  Do you know anybody else who gets to color coordinate their utensils with their dinner?"

"That's a horrible silver lining."

They both continued to eat, easy conversation filtering in during the lulls between bites.  Jess stood by his decision to keep Rory's original meal for himself, although it didn't stop her from reaching across the table with her single chopstick and stealing pieces of chicken.  When they both finished, they cleared the table, sticking the leftovers in the refrigerator.

Rory moved to the sink to turn on the faucet, but paused when she felt Jess come up behind her.  He settled his hands on either side of her, his fingers lightly resting on the counter, and leaned over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"The dishes," she stated in a 'duh' tone.

"I understand your need to keep things organized but there are no dishes tonight.  Step away from the sink, Miss Gilmore."

"There may not be actual _dishes_," she began, laying heavily on the final word, "but I can't say I'm doing the forks.  That sounds ridiculous."

"Two," he mumbled, his lips brushing her earlobe.  "You're really going to stand here and wash two forks?"

"Yes.  I can't just leave them here in the sink.  Then they'll just be _there_, staring up at me all accusingly.  They'll want to know why I wash every thing else immediately after eating, but they have to lie here.  They'll think I'm being selectively cruel."

"Geez, what is with you and these weird habits with inanimate objects?  I should be worried."

"Why aren't you?"  Rory asked teasingly.

"I guess I'm just used to it."

She was surprised to feel a tingling beneath her shoulder blades, his words slipping across her skin.  They were tinged with a soothing kind of familiarity.  He was used to her quirks; he was used to her. 

She turned in his arms to face him.  He seemed taken aback by her expression.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice quiet.

She doubted she could explain it to him, the way she had become accustomed to his presence.  There was this dependency she could count on:  she knew in the morning she'd wake up to him, his head shoved under the pillow, ordering her to shut off the "evil, unneeded technological advance" that was the alarm clock.  In the evenings, he would be home to eat dinner with her; sometimes he would make it, sometimes she would.  She liked their cooking lessons, when he would stand behind her, his fingertips light on her elbow, the small of her back.  At night, he'd sometimes fall asleep on the loveseat, his head drooping against her shoulder, or they'd both go to bed together, up for hours after the fact.

He had become used to her.  He had eased into this way of life, even though she had originally thought that that was the last thing he wanted.  He seemed to hate predictability and routine; he didn't seem the type to stay in one place too long.

But here he was.  In the beginning, she had feared that one morning she'd wake up alone, his stuff gone, their relationship packed into a small note hung on the refrigerator, almost an afterthought.  Now, she found herself pushing him out of bed, eager to stretch out by herself.  Because he would come back.  He was always coming back.

"You're just… really good at this," she finally finished. 

"At talking you down from cleaning?"

"No.  Just… this," she said cryptically. 

She nodded her head to the side in a kind of gesture that meant:  _look around_.  Using his peripheral vision to his advantage, his took a sideways glance of the room before concentrating back on her.  His expression softened, and she thought maybe he knew what she meant.  That he had kept his promise, and she loved him for it.

Instead of speaking, Jess leaned down and kissed her; she tasted sweet n' sour sauce on his lips.  Sometime inside her shuddered, warm and light, and she pulled him closer.  Her fingers danced down the buttons of his shirt, brushing against his stomach.  She wanted to stay just like this.

The phone rang, and she pulled away, startled.  "Do we have an undead phone?"

"The bill was due yesterday.  I'd give it a few days before they shut it off," Jess answered.

"Oh."  Reluctantly, she stepped to the side, and headed for the living room where the portable was resting on the loveseat. 

"If it's either of my bosses looking for extra hours, tell them you finally got fed up and killed me with a leg of lamb."

"And then I fed the lamb to the police?" 

"Exactly.  Hey, don't give me that look, Hitchcock was a genius."

She dropped onto a cushion and picked up the phone, as Jess turned on the sink.  He picked up the sponge and one of the forks and began to scrub.  He was about to tune out her side of the conversation when he heard her tone of voice change from nonchalant to nervous.

"No, no, of course this is a good time!  Of all the times of all the days, this is the best time.  Really."

He shot her a baffled look, but found that she was now pacing across the kitchen floor, her eyes locked on the wall in front of her.  He shut off the water and dried his hands on a nearby dish towel.  Moving behind her, he touched her arm, trying to get her to calm down.  She jumped when she felt his hand and skittered away, hiding in the bedroom to finish the conversation.  The door shut behind her.

Surprised at her response, he stared at the door for several seconds, straining to hear her voice from the other side.  He couldn't though; she was speaking too softly.  He headed back for the sink, trying to ignore the vise that had taken hold in his chest.  It squeezed and squeezed in the silence of the apartment; he sucked in a breath and finished cleaning.

A little later, she emerged from their bedroom, phone in hand, a blank expression on her face.  She placed the portable back in its cradle and looked down at him, where he sat on the sofa.  He figured she'd tell him what had happened, but instead she remained tightlipped and jittery. 

"Who was that?"  Fine, he'd ask then.

"My grandfather."

The vise snapped in half, and the pain was left reverberating through his entire body.  "How'd he know the number?"  He didn't look at her, instead focusing on the wall behind her.

"My mom."

His eyes flew to her face, startled.  "Your mom?  I thought maybe Lane would have given it to them.  She's the only one who knows the number."  He hoped his tone wasn't coming off as accusatory.  He was doing his best to sound neutral; it wasn't working.

"My mom knows it too," she responded, caught.  "I gave it to her."

"When?"

"I don't know, we talk sometimes, I can't give you a specific date."

"Talk?  When do you talk?  Lane's the only person who ever calls here."

"I call my mom."

"She's never appeared on the phone bill," he said.

"What do you check them and look for the Stars Hollow area code?"

"No, but sometimes when I sit down to pay the bills, I happen to go over it.  You know, just for fun."  He could feel the sarcasm seeping in, but he was starting not too care.

"Sometimes I call her from the payphone outside the laundromat."

"Why?  You can call her from here, Rory.  It's why we own a phone.  To call people."

"I just…  It's not a big deal," she said, waving him off, and heading into the kitchen.  She didn't seem to know what to do; she was just trying to walk away from him.

"If it's not a big deal, why didn't you tell me?"  He asked, following her.

"I don't know.  It never came up."

"You were hiding this from me."

"I was not!  I just didn't want to talk about it."

"Rory, come on.  Why?"

"Because it hurt!  When I first called her, I had to beg her to hear me out.  She wasn't saying anything and I was so scared she was going to hang up.  You wouldn't get it, Jess.  You can't understand what it was like to call her, and apologize over and over because when it comes to you, I always make the wrong choice."

He froze.  He had already been standing still, waiting for her to finish, but now he could feel himself stiffening.  Wrong choice.  Yeah, he had heard that one before.  He was always the mistake.

"I'm going to bed.  It was a long day at work."  He spun on his heel and went straight into the bedroom.  He slammed the door; she didn't move.

----

The television screen flickered across her face, the lack of color unusual in the dark.  She had on a black and white classic, some late night movie that had come on after the news.  She sat, unmoving, her eyes following the action, but nothing really registered.  In the hours that had passed, there had been no noise from the bedroom, no sign that he was in there, wanting her to come to bed. 

She stood and sauntered across the kitchen, stepping as quietly as she could.  She opened the door, and stood in the frame, looking over at the bed.

"Jess?"

No answer.

She crept inside and sat beside him.  The interior of the room was too stifling.  The August humidity had leaked in, and she choked on it, swallowing the heat.  She could feel it condensing inside her, filling her lungs with water.  She peeked over his shoulder.

"Jess, are you awake?"  Her voice was small, desperate.  She heard tears, but when she touched her face, it was dry.

When he still didn't answer, she leaned down, resting her forehead on his upper arm.  His skin felt cooler against hers.

She had wanted to tell him about calling her mom, but didn't know how.  The rational part of her knew that he wouldn't be angry; he understood the fact that she needed her mother.  No amount of distance would change that.  But after each phone call, she felt drained and upset, bouncing back and forth between two lives.

He couldn't understand.  He wouldn't get the bigger picture here.  That night when she had gone back to Stars Hollow for the inn, her first and only visit this summer, she had watched the last part of her world crumble beneath her.  Lorelai, stressed and betrayed, had run around trying to make everything perfect, only briefly acknowledging her presence.  Her grandparents had taken the much colder route, completely freezing her out when they weren't bickering with each other.  She had seen the way they looked at her:  with disappointment, anger.

Dean had torn into her the one time they saw each other.  He too felt betrayed by her careless antics, running away with Jess, leaving everything behind for _him_.  After Dean had finished half-yelling without her bothering to pipe up and defend herself, he had walked off, taking with him the final pieces of their friendship.  Then there had been the rest of the town, who Rory had expected to bombard her with questions and whisper behind her back.  They had only done the latter, however.  They had nearly ignored her, as if she wasn't even there, as if she hadn't made an effort, as if she had stayed behind in New York, forgetting about her life here.

It was the most terrible realization for her:  going home to find out that it no longer was hers. 

When she had arrived back to their apartment and crawled into bed, it had taken every ounce of willpower for her not to cry.  It had run through her mind over and over:  go back now!  If she had packed up then, shown up on her mother's doorstep, she could have salvaged it.  Everything would have eventually gone back to normal; it was still fixable. 

Jess had crawled in later, easing into the bed slowly, trying to not to disturb her.  She had been turned away, feigning sleep.  He had kissed her lightly on the neck, before running a finger down her spine, falling down the stair steps of her vertebrae.

He was splitting her in two.

Even now in the darkness of the bedroom, she could feel the strain, the tension running through her, cracking.  She was coming apart at the seams.  Jess had done this, made it this way; he had turned this into an ultimatum.  Him or everything she knew.  Him or her future.

Rory sat up, brushing her fingertips across the side of his face, catching his hair.  She slipped out the room, and closed the door softly behind her.  The phone call from her grandfather ran through her mind, as she made her way back to the sofa.  Turning up the volume of the television, she blocked it out.


	4. Four

**A/N**: Oi. My apologies. Thanks for all of the very kind reviews. This is for Becka, because I heart her and I'm proud of her. Congrats, Becka!

**Chapter Four**

It happened during the in-between of summer, sometime in July. At that point, the awkwardness had faded to a nonexistent degree and the doubt that she felt about the whole situation was no longer blatantly obvious in her actions. May had seemed like such a distant memory then, an unfortunate dream one of them had had that made no difference now, because look how they had turned out. August, while steadily approaching as time permits nothing else, appeared too far in the future for there to be worry. It was like a thought that could be postponed, along with any anxieties or decisions that came with that month.

Every day had felt the same: a long stretch of sun and heat, and anticipation for the cooler nights out on in the city or on the roof. Specific dates had been lost as each week passed, but it hadn't mattered then, not when it felt like both of them were riding forever, stuck in these half melted moments of summer. The past and future had been ridiculous notions to worry about when the present was so perfect and enjoyable. That was why it had been so easy for Jess to begin to believe it all himself.

He could disregard the pacing he heard, the scraps of paper he found, listing all the reasons why this was a bad, bad choice. When her outward appearance screamed happiness, and his own internal structure throbbed with contentment, it was not a problem believing in all the positive answers he had been feeding her for the past couple of months. Yes, this will work. Yes, this will only get better.

Yes, she will stay.

Now, with the beginning of Yale fast approaching, and actual conversation between them turned into an improbable myth, he wondered how he could have been so foolish. What an inane pipe dream. She was always going back, he realized. She had never fully eased into this. Her secret calling of Lorelai was proof of that, or else she would have mentioned they were talking. She knew he would have been happy that the relationship was being rebuilt; he would have been relieved.

But she didn't trust him enough (or maybe he still didn't trust her), and things right now had returned to how they had been before, early on. As he recapped the toothpaste, he listened to the shower run, but said nothing. They could be talking right now, he remembered. Instead there was only the anger and the hurt from the night before setting up invisible barriers that made interaction near impossible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her form through the frosted glass of the shower door. She had her forehead against the wall, her palms flat against the tiles beneath. The water continued to rain down on her, slipping across her skin, and he had to suppress the urge to climb inside with her. The feeling passed as he returned to the mirror, getting out the shaving cream and his razor.

The shower was suddenly shut off, and he paused in his actions, waiting for her to move. The door opened and a wave of thick heat hit him, warming the right side of his body. Stepping out, she wrapped a towel around herself, but did not leave. She stood quietly behind him while he tried to refocus on his task of shaving. He had yet to even shake the can when he felt her hand on his back, tracing damp figure eights on his shoulder blades. Instinctively, he put the shaving cream down, resting his hands on either side of the sink. She leaned closer.

Pressing her lips against the base of his spine, she continued to gently dance across his skin, her fingertips tripping over the small drops of water that fell from her eyelashes onto him. She was careful, yet bold, wanting the uneasiness of the night before to be washed away; she wanted them to be okay.

He turned and pulled her into him, kissing her hard. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed against him, knowing it would drive him crazy. Only a thin towel separated her from him, and sooner or later, the force that was holding it up would diminish and let it slip.

Spinning them around, he practically rammed her into the sink, shaking the contents that balanced on top of it. Her right hand shot back to grab the white porcelain, fearing a fall, and in the process, she hit his razor, sending it skidding into the sink. Seconds later, he pulled away, touching his lips to her cheek, neck, and shoulder as he turned off the faucet. Leaning close to her face, he muttered something about conserving water, and she smiled, giving him another soft kiss.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, leaving damp fingerprints along his jaw. "I was afraid to tell you about calling my mom. I just… I was trying to keep her and us separate."

"You should have told me. You can't keep things from me."

"Like you've never kept anything from me?" she asked with an icy edge.

He let go of her, stepping back until he hit the opposite wall. They were still close.

Fixing her towel so it was more secure around her body, she concentrated on staring down at the blue fabric. The new tension was now a solid part of her movements, but still, she did not try to meet his eyes.

"I think you have this idea in your head that I'm going to all of a sudden leave you. I wouldn't do that," she said, not looking up at him until the end of her statement.

Once again, there was an underlying meaning, a faint accusation in her words. He said nothing about it, instead accepting what she had said at face value. She wouldn't just up and leave without a word, without notice. But that didn't mean she wouldn't go.

Walking forward, she gave him a quick kiss, feeling a flicker of a response before breaking contact. Uneasy with his lack of a verbal reply to what she had said, she changed the subject.

"You have work this morning?"

"Yeah, half day at the bookstore then over to the restaurant."

"Oh," she nodded. "Will you have breakfast with me before you leave?" She gave him a pleading look, wanting to know that she was forgiven and he would willingly stay with her a bit longer.

"Yeah," he answered, even though he knew he would have to race through the rest of his morning routine in order to be punctual.

He pushed a wet lock of hair off her shoulder, and gave her what he first thought to be a quick kiss. But then she latched onto him, and he gave in, letting the minutes of their precious time tick by. He found the edge of her towel, and ran a hand across her bare back, eliciting a shiver from her.

Breakfast was skipped, and he was late for work.

----

Eventually, she became restless, unable to find a single thing to do. The apartment was already clean, not needing too much time spent on it as she always kept it organized. There were no dishes, and her planned laundromat visit was for tomorrow. Perhaps she would go out, shop for food or wander around a tourist attraction. Maybe she could even visit Jess at work. Right now, she didn't like being away from him. She was afraid the anger would come back.

Running a hand across the edge of the bookshelf, she cocked her head to the side, studying the titles. Just as she was about to make a final selection, something she could put in her purse and bring out with her, she heard a knock at the front door. She hurried to answer it, confused; they rarely ever received visitors.

In her mind, she saw a cartoonish version of herself, her eyes bulging and her jaw dropping to the ground. Reality, however, only provided for a less exaggerated reaction, although she was certain her mother clearly saw the shock written on her face.

"Hi, Mom," she managed to stutter out.

"Hey, kid." Lorelai smiled, although the corners of her mouth barely lifted. "I wasn't sure I had the right building."

"You do," Rory nodded dumbly.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Rory took a step back, allowing her mother entry before closing the door behind her.

The tour was quick, and Lorelai's expression stayed, for the most part, the same – grim. When they returned to the center of the kitchen, Rory wrung her hands together nervously, waiting for the most important person in her life to give her a verdict on what had suddenly become the most important place to her – her new home.

"It's nice," Lorelai remarked. "It's better than I expected. There are no giant, one eyed rats roaming about."

"No rats," Rory echoed.

"I imagined mutant creatures poking you while you slept."

"No, I sleep well."

"I saw that there was only one bed in the bedroom."

"Well, yeah. You… knew about that."

"Yes, I, uh, I do. It's just to see it in real life in vivid colors…" Lorelai paused, blinking rapidly. "Where's Jess?"

"Work."

"Oh. Right. Restaurant?"

"Bookstore," Rory corrected. "And then he'll head over to the restaurant."

"How much does he make?"

Startled by the question, all Rory could get out was: "Enough to pay the bills."

"How are you able to afford this apartment? How were you able to buy this furniture?"

The two questions were fired at her rapidly, the subject change so sudden that it made Rory's head spin. "Most of the furniture was already here. Jess had some money saved up."

"And…" Lorelai prompted.

Rory sighed. "And maybe I helped out a little bit too."

"Rory, you don't have a job. You have never worked before. The only cash you have is money that we put aside for when you graduated from college. It's not a lot, but it was _something_. And now you're going to stand there and tell me you've been spending it on all of this?"

"I bought the chairs and some dishes! Sometimes, I help with the rent. Jess works two jobs to pay for everything. I _had _to help. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't!"

"So what, he works two jobs and you stay home all day?"

"I clean up, do the laundry. Then, I go out, hang around the city. You'd be surprised at the amount of different activities New York has to offer," Rory said, a sarcastic edge to her tone.

"So is this it now? Jess working odd jobs, and you roaming the city, getting home in time to cook for him?"

"Don't belittle this," Rory warned. "You're just angry because I'm living with a guy, a guy you don't like, and I did it without consulting you. I'm making it, and being an adult, and you can't stand it."

"An adult? You think running away in the middle of the night with some _boy_ makes you an adult?"

"We found this apartment together. We're living together and supporting ourselves, and…"

"And what? This is what I mean, Rory. What then? Is this the rest of your life? What about Yale? What about the plans you made?"

"I – I don't know. I can go to school here, I can make it here…" She bit back a wave of emotion, and turned away from her mother, covering her face. Taking a deep breath, she felt herself calming, and spun back around to face her.

"Alright, no more fighting or yelling," Lorelai said. "But we need to talk about this."

"Fine," Rory conceded, heading for the refrigerator. She would cook, another sign that she was perfectly independent. "We can talk over lunch."

----

Standing behind the cash register at the bookstore was exactly what Jess hadn't needed. It was idle work, and it allowed his mind to wander, stuck on the night before. This morning may have been some semblance of a make-up, but kissing her hadn't rid him of the remembrance of her words. How she had said that she was always making the wrong choice in regards to him. He was always the mistake.

It brought the anger back, although he did his best to repress it. Luckily, he had enough time to head back to the apartment before going to his next job. He could grab a small bite to eat and talk to Rory in the time he had, and then he would see that his anger was misplaced. She had spoken too rashly last night; she hadn't meant it.

The door swung open, but he froze in its frame, shocked at the picture in front of him. Lorelai and Rory sat at the kitchen table, eating and chatting; he knew that at some point, he had been the subject. It made his bones feel oddly heavy, dragging him down.

"Hey," Rory greeted, standing up to meet him. She went straight for him, giving him a peck on the cheek. He stared over her shoulder at Lorelai, who on the contrary, did not look happy to see him.

"Hi, Jess," she said.

"Lorelai," he answered. Looking down at Rory, he choked back his anger and distrust, trying to get his mind on something else. "I just came home to grab something."

He went into the bedroom, and shut the door, leaning against it. The kitchen was silent; only the scrape of the chair against the floor was heard. Rory had sat back down. Looking over at their bookcase, Jess had the fleeting thought that he would have to separate those. He would have to remember which were his, and which were Rory's, so she could take them back home with her.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he opened the door, pretending to have gotten what he needed.

"Jess, can't you stay and have lunch with us? _Please_?" Rory asked.

"I thought I had more time," he stated. "I don't. I'll see you later," he finished before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.

----

It was late when he arrived home. He felt dead on his feet, and hoped Rory would already be in bed, so he could drift right to sleep. Unfortunately, as soon as he came in, he found her on the couch, waiting up for him.

"How could you leave like that?" she asked immediately, standing up.

"I had work."

"You just left! I spent a half-hour explaining to my mother how different you are, and how much you've changed, only to have you walk out without so much as a word to her?"

"You didn't mention you were having her over."

"She just showed up! Don't go down that route again," she warned. "I tried to call you and tell you that she was here. I wanted to ask you to come home for lunch, but our phone is dead. My mom got a kick out of that."

"I'm sure she did. I bet she loves hearing how I have trouble paying for the apartment. Did you explain to her about that? Do you even get that yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're playing house, Rory. You ran away with me knowing you had a back-up plan. You could always go back to Stars Hollow. This was all just some sort of experiment for you."

"Shut up," she snapped. "You have no idea what this was for me."

"I work two jobs. I have to worry about how we're going to pay for rent each month. I have to worry about how we're going to buy food. I have to worry if you're even going to be here for it!"

"I'm here, Jess! I'm always here. I was always here! But you never once took advantage of that."

Then everything was clear. Crystal clear complete with the jarring realization as she paused to catch her breath. This summer couldn't succeed, not with the unresolved issues that they both brought to this apartment, tangled up in her clothes, packed away in his books.

"Is this about now, or is this about last year?"

"I don't know anymore," she muttered. "You know what? You're right. This wasn't supposed to work. This was _never _supposed to work. I thought I'd come out here, and you'd try, and you'd fail and then I'd go home. Then I wouldn't have to wonder anymore."

He stared at her for a second, letting her words sink in. She came into this with only one expectation: failure. This was her messed up method of moving on from him; proving to herself that he would not, could not change.

"This summer was a fucking joke," he spit out, stripping them of all the intimate encounters they had shared, and the easy late night conversation that now seemed absurd. Every meaningful moment was declared null and void with his statement, and instead of trying to fight him on it, she stormed into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

She slipped into bed, and pulled the sheet over her body, doing her best to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill since that morning.


	5. Five

**A/N**: Becka and Marissa's fault. Thanks to Marissa for serving as a flattering and helpful beta. One guess as to what the italics mean. By the way, one chapter remains after this one.

**Chapter Five**

He woke up alone. The sheets on Rory's side of the bed had been pulled tight, her pillow fluffed and laid neatly beside his. He stretched across the mattress and grabbed the alarm, finding it had been set for six, an hour earlier than usual. He threw the clock and rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. He heard the cheap plastic of the alarm crack; pieces scatter across the hardwood floor. He took a deep breath, chocking on the scent of regret and Rory's perfume.

-

_"Can we - "_

_"No."_

_"But I - "_

_"No."_

_"But we really - "_

_"Don't do it, Rory." _

_Jess watched as her hand crept closer and closer to the blue cardboard box that he now considered enemy number one. There was no way he was going home with a plastic clock that played so-called 'rushing meadows' that sounded like a toilet flushing. That wasn't going to put him to sleep, and a rooster crowing sure as hell wasn't going to wake him up. He wanted cheap, simple, but useful. He should have made Rory wait in the car._

_"You won't let me decorate."_

_"Right now, food is considered a luxury and you want to decorate?" he asked incredulously. He had a list in his hands, one he had written himself even as Rory sat next to him, asking if she could, _please_, add a thing or two._

_"Just this one indulgence. Please."_

_"Rory - "_

_"_Please_." She had the familiar pout on her face; it made her look much younger than she was; like a desperate little kid begging for permission. When he let out a sigh, she smiled at him, a rare sight since she had arrived in New York. He couldn't help but think he'd do anything to keep that smile in place; her happiness a sure thing._

_"Put it in the basket."_

_"Yes!" Her hands shot into the air as she did a victory dance around the cart. She jumped on him, throwing her arms around his neck._

_"But no dinner tonight," he teased._

_"It was worth it."_

-

The day passed in a vacuum empty of sound and time. He did the dishes in the sink, left over from Lorelai's lunch the day before, and Rory's solitary dinner. He sorted the laundry but left it sitting in baskets, unable to bring himself to leave the apartment. He thought – what if she came home and he missed her? What if she was out, cooling her heels, and all of this meant nothing? In his mind, he could picture her arriving home with a forlorn smile, crying into his shoulder as she asked if they could be alright now.

He would say yes.

But the hours didn't seem to pass, and the city remained mute outside the windows, leaving Jess in silent isolation. The sun rose higher in the sky, marking noon, before drifting off toward the horizon. Jess showered and dressed; stared at the blank television screen, ran his fingers across the titles of books without ever picking one up.

He wondered if this was it; how it ended. A rocky relationship snapping in two like a sinking ship, each half sinking quietly below the surface without causing so much as a ripple. She would never call, but send movers to take care of her stuff; a couple of guys packing up memories of her into little cardboard boxes without any idea as to what they were destroying. They'd drop her books, crack her pictures, and within a couple of hours, she would be gone.

He thought maybe he deserved this after what he did. He had taught her how to disappear by doing it to her; it made sense that she would do the same.

-

_At a noise from the kitchen, he stirred, his eyes fluttering open. The room was dark and blanketed in a thick fog as he blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his vision. A laugh from outside the open door caught his attention as he sat up in bed. A second later, Rory tiptoed in, a pint of ice cream in her hands._

_She let out a squeak. "Oh!" She held the container to her chest, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"_

_He nodded gravely. "Yep. Too much noise."_

_She frowned. "I didn't mean to."_

_"S'okay."_

_The light from the kitchen spilled in around her. He thought she glowed. "Would you get in here?" he said._

_She smiled and jumped onto the bed, scrambling into his lap. Once she was settled, she ripped off the top of her pint and dug in. "Want some?" she offered, the spoon stuck in her mouth. _

_"Nah." He grasped her hips, running his hands down her thighs. "What are you doing up?"_

_"Couldn't sleep," she answered, taking another bite. "Figured I'd raid the fridge." She leaned her forehead against his, a mock serious look on her face. "Since when do we have ice cream?"_

_"Since I picked it up after work."_

_"You truly know the way to a girl's heart." She grinned, batting her eyelashes at him. He shook his head, his arms encircling her waist._

_"Are you sure you don't want some?" she asked again, his lips a breath away from hers._

_He kissed the side of her mouth, a hand trailing up her back. She felt the tip of his tongue against her skin, tasting the spot of ice cream she had gotten on her cheek._

_"Not bad," he decided, settling back against the pillows._

_  
She ate another spoonful, and gave him a secret smile. "Thanks for picking it up."_

_He shrugged. "It was nothing."_

_"I like it when you do this," she said, staring at him thoughtfully. "These little things. They're like reminders that you think of me – of us." She bit her lip. "Do you understand?"_

_He knew what she meant. All it took were these small gestures to show that he meant everything he had told her over the past month; that he was in this for the long haul; he was thinking of her._

_"I love you," he told her, feeling funny. The room swayed around him, black shadows overlapping the light from the door. He touched her arm, forgetting she was real._

_"I love you, too."_

- 

She came back late, sometime after ten. When she entered the apartment, it looked bleak. She thought: _is this where I've been living all summer?_

Jess came out of the bedroom without a glance her way. He went over to the cabinets and began to root through them, looking for something that wasn't there.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything, but he heard the words, the delicate form they had taken, leaving her mouth. He thought about how nice it was to kiss her when she said soft words just like those.

"My grandfather asked if I would come down to visit. He asked last night, when he called. I told him I would call him back. But then I decided I should just go down, hear what he had to say. I surprised him by showing up today." She didn't say how he had smiled when the maid led her in. That even as he reprimanded her for her immaturity, she had recognized his excitement that she was back.

"Jess, I'm really sorry I didn't say anything to you. I almost called you today while I was there. I had the half the numbers dialed before I remembered our phone was dead. I think - " She sniffled, close to tears. Her throat stung from trying to hold them back. "I think I was trying to hurt you."

He had his hands in front of him, resting on the counter. He refused to turn around. Rory sat on the couch, her back to his. She continued.

"My grandparents said that what I did was very stupid and irresponsible. They said I was wrong to just disappear without any notice and stay gone even after I found out how angry everyone was." She took a deep breath, staring blankly at the wall. Jess turned and took a few steps toward her. He knew she was crying. He wanted to touch her shoulder and apologize too; he knew that today must have been awful for her. "But they also said that everyone makes mistakes and they refuse to compromise my future for one error in judgment."

Jess froze, knowing that he was the error here; the miscalculation.

"I can go back to Yale if I want. They already sent in the money, reserved me a spot. It's not too late to register for classes."

He leaned against the wall only inches away from where she sat. He thought about closing the gap and sitting beside her, ending this feud.

"I said yes," she confessed, her breathing ragged.

Jess stumbled backwards as if pushed, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. He shook his head as she stood up and turned to see him.

"My grandfather said that everything goes back to the way it was. Friday night dinners are reinstated. I have to leave tomorrow."

"You should leave now."

"But I have another night," she said, her eyes pleading.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Rory. You're going back. Why prolong it?"

She grimaced at his tone, his words. "I wasn't pretending, and you know that. You know how much this summer meant to me."

"I think you should go back tonight," he repeated.

She stared at him a moment longer, a look of plea on her face. She had run out of things to say, reassuring promises, apologies, three small words. There was nothing left to tell him, ask of him. This was it. The end.

"I'll be back for my stuff."

-

_She was pinned under him as he kissed her neck, his hips burning against hers. She giggled as he nipped her ear, bit her skin. She curled a leg over his and closed her eyes, letting herself be taken over by him. They lay on the living room floor, the sofa on one side, the television on the other. Somewhere in the background, the news was on, the weatherman predicting there was going to be rain._

_"Jess." He pushed her skirt up and she said his name again, soft and quick; easy as taking a breath. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her shoulder. She exhaled: _Jess

_He combed his fingers through her hair, watching her face; she had her eyes squeezed shut. She had thought it was funny when he suggested breaking in the apartment like two newlyweds stuck in the honeymoon stage. She had used the word lovebirds, cooing at him as she said it. She had batted her eyelashes, crawling across his lap until he had pulled her onto the floor. Now she was quiet and serious; maybe a little bit lost._

_"Rory," he said into her ear. He was worried she was floundering beneath him, losing herself to something bad. Did she feel stupid right now? Guilty? Naïve? What was going on behind her closed eyes, playing across the movie screen in her head? "Rory," he said again._

_She tugged on his shirt, staring up at him. "Jess." She was whispering now, smiling. "Hi."_

_Affectionately, he kissed the tip of her nose. "Hi."_

-

Jess didn't sleep that night. He didn't sleep the next night either, not after he received a message from work. Rory had called to say she would be back Saturday to pick up her stuff. She wanted to move out as fast as she could. She wanted to be done with this.

Jess spent his sleepless nights thinking about her, even though he didn't want to. It was hard not to when he laid in the bed they had shared, staring up at a blank ceiling that held no answers. She was the only thought that surfaced inside his head.

He wanted to feel betrayed, and blame this all on her. But logic told him that there was no other way; if she had stayed, the love would have faded fast, replaced by that bitter kind of hate that accompanied regret. It was the type that blossomed out of lost opportunities and blacked out dreams. This way, it had ended quietly with hushed, angry words that would soon be forgotten.

The memories would remain though. He wouldn't be able to stay here.

She had ruined the apartment, and the city.

Darkly, he thought maybe she had ruined him.

-

She arrived early on Saturday – earlier than she had said she would. When she trudged down the hall and let herself in, Jess was still there.

"Hi," she said.

"You're not supposed to be here for another hour."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to get this over with."

Without waiting for a reply, she went into the bedroom where she found all her belongings in boxes. Even the bookshelf had been cleared of her collection. It looked so empty now; half full. Tears stung her eyes as she searched the room, desperately needing something to pack. She was supposed to do this! She hadn't wanted it all gone so quickly; wasn't she supposed to get a few minutes of nostalgia as she packed her life away?

She headed back into the living room, wanting to yell at him. She wanted to scream and tell him every horrible thought she had ever had of him; show him that he was the bad one here. He was the one who had messed up, and she was only trying to save herself. But it all sounded like bullshit in her head, and she knew it was. So instead she said his name. Just once. Then she waited.

He stared back at her, waiting too.

"Can it not end like this? I never wanted it to get like this, like it was before. I want us to be okay."

He stood up, wandering if she should give her this. He needed it too.

"We both knew that this would never work."

"Why wouldn't it?" he asked. "Because I wasn't Dean? Because your grandparents don't like me?"

"Are you serious?" She shook her head, looking puzzled. "Don't bring Dean or my grandparents into this," she warned. "This is about you and me – "

"No, it's not. It has never been about just you and me. Why do you think I wanted to leave, Rory?"

Her shoulders sagged. She looked desperate. "I don't understand."

"Our relationship has always been about something or someone else. Dean, your mother, your grandparents, school, work…" He ticked each item off on his fingers. "This why we didn't work in Stars Hollow, why we wouldn't work in New Haven. This is why I brought you here and that's why you came with me. You know this, Rory. You know why we left."

"Jess…"

"As soon as one person got back in that was it. You're gone."

"No!" She wanted to stomp her foot. "This _is_ about you and me. We don't work. We never will. It's always okay for a little while but then – "

"Then real life gets back in the way," he finished for her. He had been trying so hard to keep it out: the bills, the stress of work, of _providing _for her. But it had leaked in, ruining their snowglobe romance. They worked fine by themselves; it was everything else that got in the way.

"This is real life, Jess. _We_ are real life! You just can't accept the fact that both of us screw up. You hurt me, and I hurt you."

"You're the one leaving this time, Rory. You're the one who's screwing up."

She ran an exasperated hand through her hair. This was killing her; she was sure of it. "Don't do that. Do _not _put this all on me. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

He looked away, staring hard at the wall.

"Sometimes I hate you," she said. "I hate you so much for making me feel so awful. You wanted me to choose between you and Yale, right? You and the rest of my life?" She waited for an answer, but he wouldn't even look at her. She went on, speaking in a low, even tone. "Well, I'm choosing my future. A future without you. You're not worth throwing everything away for."

A moment passed, a prolonged pause that she felt press against her body. "I'll help you bring your stuff down," he finally said, sweeping past her into the bedroom. She stared at the place where he had stood, remembering the hardened look on his face. It was then that she realized something terrible. It was amazing how deep one thought can penetrate; make her bleed from the inside out.

After today, she was never going to see him again.


	6. Six

**A/N**: Lots of thanks to Marissa who beta-ed this for me. I love snow days.

**Chapter Six**

The apartment was different. The cabinets were half full; the bookcase was half empty. It seemed everything was halfway now; pieces missing, huge gaps appearing where there used to be fluid motion. Jess had never realized how much room Rory had taken up, the space she filled with her books, clothes, and presence. He missed that now, the overwhelming feeling of being near her; the way she was always there when he came home from work with a smile and something new to tell him. Now he was stuck with a lonely silence, interrupted only by the sound of his breathing.

Dinner was prepared for one. He sat at the couch to eat, watching the news out of habit, while the kitchen table became a forgotten shelf, holding bills and books he no longer read. He worked more, as much as he could, coming home only to eat and sleep. The apartment was unbearable but he stayed, wandering around it like a ghost, once again without meaning. It was pathetic the way he lived.

It was as if the fabric of time had fucked up, and he was back in his old apartment, sans his two roommates. Back then he couldn't find any reason or meaning in his days, other than just living because there was no other choice. But over the summer, he had discovered what it was like to exist for another person. To try; have reasons again.

He needed to leave. This apartment. This city. Start over somewhere else and find a new odd job and a new crap place to live and new expendable friends and new worries and new bills.

Yet he was still there, still hanging on, clawing at logic. Eventually his fingers would slip.

He was running out of reasons to stay. Memories weren't enough.

-

A month after she left – three weeks into her new year at Yale – he woke up in the middle of the night to find Rory perched on the bed, her hand on his arm, trying to rouse him.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes in an effort to rid himself of dreams that had carried over into waking. She was still there after he blinked, the soft features of her face muted in the dark.

"Hi."

His surroundings fell back to him in pieces. The sheets were a loose layer around his legs, damp with sweat; the door was open, letting in air and light from the kitchen. He took a breath.

"Hi," he parroted.

She stared at him, assessing the situation. She was waiting for him to frown or scowl, send her away. How much damage had already been done?

She told him in a hushed voice, "I forgot to give you back your key."

Rory's hand was cool against his arm; she felt very real. He nodded dumbly. "I'm sorry," she said. She kissed him softly, barely brushing her lips against his. She pulled away as if finally realizing her mistake, but then his hand was on the back of her head, and he was kissing her; hopelessly, stupidly.

"I love you." Her voice cracked. She kissed him again as she spoke, lying across him. "I'm sorry if I ever made you think I didn't."

She was pulling away from him, slipping between his fingers. But then she was static, staring at him nervously.

"You're here," he said slowly.

She had her hand on his thigh; a tight, nervous grip. Her eyes were shining. "I missed you." She stared down at her lap, fumbling with words. "Do you remember when you first met me? I mean – not that first night but back then? Do you remember how badly I wanted to go to Harvard?"

"Yeah," he answered, disbelieving. She was here, trying to explain. Moments ago, he was asleep and she was still a dream.

"That was my goal. I was _set_ on Harvard. And then suddenly, I get accepted to Yale and within a week, everything changes." He nodded again, but she was looking down. "I changed my mind. I made the decision to go to Yale." She paused, finally meeting his eyes. "I made another decision."

He shook his head. "Rory…"

"I was wrong before, going back. I want to stay here. With you."

"You don't mean that."

She stood up, walked away from him. He thought: this was it; he had lost her. Urgency took over, and he wanted to beat her to the door, escort her back to bed.

"How would you know how I feel?" she asked, spinning around. "You don't know me as well as you think you do. If you did, you never would have asked me to come with you in the first place." Her tone was quiet but fierce. She rubbed her forehead, eyes shut, as she tried to regroup.

"We've been over that," she said.

He was on his feet, but unable to move closer. "Yeah."

"I don't know how we worked this long. With last year as it is, and this summer the way it is and…" She trailed off. "But I came here to start over," she told him. "I came here to fix things."

"Tell me you want to stay."

"I want to stay."

"Tell me you'll give up Yale," he challenged.

"I'll give up Yale."

He watched her closely, peering at her the dark. "Say it again."

She sighed and looked away. "I'll give up Yale," she told the wall.

He saw it: the doubt. She was nervous, but she was trying, grasping at empty air. He knew if he kept her, she would never be entirely his. She would always be thinking back on what could have been. "You're already regretting it."

"I am not!" she insisted. "I want this."

"In a month will you want this? Next week? How long before your mind wanders back to school and everything else?"

"You don't believe that I'm willing to give that up? I can go to school here. I can work and save up for graduate school. I can – "

"Save up? There are bills and rent that need to be paid. This is hard, Rory."

"I know it is! I was here all summer too."

"You don't get it." He shook his head, making her feel small. "I spent all summer working and paying the bills and trying to keep everything good. All you needed to do was stay."

She bit her lip. Coming up here seemed stupid now, completely futile. What had she been thinking? "I… I don't know what to do here."

"You go home."

-

There were cracks in the sky as dawn approached and light began to seep through. Rory had her head on his shoulder, a leg casually thrown over his. He liked this – it was easy and familiar, something he was used to.

"I think this was something my mom wanted to do," she said.

He touched her hand, entwined their fingers. Her presence gave him a sense of anxiety, like the world was ending fast and he could do nothing to stop it. She would be gone soon.

"Do what?"

"Run away with my dad. Just the two of them in some small apartment." She smiled wistfully, thinking back on her own experience. "She didn't have big dreams, my mom. She just wanted something different from what she had."

The air was cool outside as they sat on the fire escape, facing the adjacent apartment building. The city was alive around them, bright lights and flowing traffic. It didn't seem as loud this morning. There was a quiet quality to it, rather solemn as men and women hit their alarms, turned over in bed, showered and dressed for work. It was a Wednesday morning and obligations needed to be met.

Rory scooted closer to Jess as goosebumps appeared on her skin, brought on by the cold wind. Yesterday had been the last day of summer. Autumn was officially here, and time had run out.

"You have class today?"

"Yeah," Rory replied. "At ten." She offered nothing more and he didn't ask. "You have work?"

"At eight."

"Bookstore or restaurant?" she asked, hating how sore her throat had become. The pain was interfering with her words.

"Bookstore."

He grazed her chin and she looked up at him in question. He kissed the tip of her nose and she laughed, the sound small and strained. With a hand on his cheek, she tilted her head up until her mouth found his. The kiss was sweet and soft and so heartbreakingly final that she had tears in her eyes when she pulled away.

"Dean and Lindsay split up," she said abruptly.

"What?" He couldn't have heard her right.

"When I got back, they weren't living together anymore. I knew they were too young. It wouldn't work, not yet." She sighed, refusing to look up at him. "If they had waited a few years though, who knows?"

He ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah," he agreed. "In a few years, they could have been ready."

She closed her eyes and tried to picture the future. She saw her graduation from Yale, a bright, hopeful smile as she entered the next phase of her life. More studying, more classes at graduate school. There would be more plans, schedules; less time for something else. Would it ever be right? Would either ever be ready?

"This hurts," she said absently. "I never thought it would hurt this much."

He kissed her again, unable to put it into words.

-

She had parked along the street right outside the apartment building. He didn't know how much change she had put in, how long she had been planning to wait inside with him, but the parking meter had time left.

He squeezed her arm as she opened the door, the keys in her hand. She was resistant to go and end this for real. She didn't know how to say goodbye; she doubted he did either.

"You're not going to call, are you?" she asked, bringing up their agreement to keep in contact. With some things, she couldn't trust him.

"I am."

"You promise?"

He laid a hand on the small of her back, pulled her toward him. "I promise."

"Good." She swallowed uneasily. "I'll call too."

"Good," he repeated.

Her knuckles were white against the car door; she kept shuffling her feet, unable to make herself move away from him.

"I love you." She shrugged as if this was unneeded common knowledge. He already knew it. She was just saying it to fill the minutes that were no longer hers. "I'm glad I came."

She kissed his cheek and sat down and shut her door and shoved the key in the ignition. Outside the window, she felt him standing there, looking down at her. He took a step back. She turned the key.

He watched her car grow smaller and smaller until she was no longer there, just a pinprick of memory on the horizon. In his pocket, he had her new cell phone number, written out in her delicate script. He held it in his hand as he stood on the sidewalk, staring down the road. He couldn't move, didn't know how to. There was only one thought in his head, uneasy and desperate:

_What now?_

-

He calls, just as he said he would.

They talk as often as they can, in-between his jobs, after her classes, before she has to run to the paper. She calls him too, leaves him messages at work, always happy to hear his voice flood over the line.

One day, real life gets in the way again, and the calls come less. Once every two weeks. Once a month.

Eventually they stop as he becomes buried under worry for bills and finding another job, and she begins to stress over tests she has to take and articles she needs to write.

He runs out of time. He forgets to call.

She doesn't notice how time slips away. She forgets it's supposed to hurt.

(the end)

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Thanks in particular to the girls who complimented me and made me pretty things to encourage me to finish this. I'm only sorry I took so long. 


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